


Here It Comes Again

by Callisparrow



Category: Genesis (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisparrow/pseuds/Callisparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike learns the hard way about the dangers of eating on the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here It Comes Again

Something didn't feel quite right.

Phil stirred in the hotel bed, not fully awake but not dreaming either. From the fuzzy edges of consciousness he was aware of light spilling into the darkened room, but couldn't place its source. He moaned softly and pulled the sheets over his eyes, dimly hoping he could slip back quietly into undisturbed sleep.

His hopes were dashed by a loud and highly unpleasant retching sound.

“The hell?” Phil muttered groggily. He kicked the sheets away and squinted against the light filtering into the bedroom. This hotel was rather nicer than some they'd had the misfortune of visiting, and their rooms were a large connected suite—with beds for each of them, for a change. His bed happened to be adjacent to the bathroom, which was in fact where the light was filtering from under the door. The retching was heard again and Phil grimaced. He wasn't sure which bandmate was being sick but either way it did not sound promising. He stole a glance at the bedside clock—1:05 am. So much for his plan for extra sleep. He stumbled out of bed and made his way unsteadily to the bathroom. It was unlocked.

“Everything all right?” he said, and immediately realized what a stupid question that was.

There was Mike, spread awkwardly over the tiled floor with his elbows resting on the toilet bowl, head in hands. He was breathing shallowly as he sat contemplating the toilet water.

“No,” Mike choked. He raised his head briefly and Phil was alarmed to see his friend's long face look so pale and sallow.

“Christ, what happened?” He took a step closer but recoiled as Mike fell forward and violently emptied his stomach contents into the toilet. It was a few minutes before he could speak again.

“About an hour ago—I woke up feeling sick. I don't know what it was I ate but it's not going away.” He groaned and rested his back against the edge of the tub.

“But we all ate the same thing...” Phil's heart sank as various panicky scenarios flashed through his mind—would Mike need a doctor? Would the whole crew fall sick? Was he sick now? A vague queasy feeling in his guts was not helping matters, though he supposed it might have been anyone's reaction to seeing their friend's dinner swimming 'round the toilet bowl. The thought of any future visits to the hotel restaurant was suddenly distinctly unappealing as well.

“Unless it was the cheese,” Mike considered, as thoughtfully as one can while attempting not to puke. “Did you eat that?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I did.” He sighed and knocked his forehead against the toilet.

Phil murmured in sympathy. “Can't I get you anything?” he asked. It pained him to see Mike so weak and vulnerable; he was usually the one they depended on in times of crisis. But in spite of his misery Mike managed a very wan smile and shook his head.

“No, I'll be all right. I'm sorry if I woke you.”

“Don't apologize.” Phil stifled a yawn as he sat down on the edge of the tub. He gently rubbed Mike's back and hoped it was comforting in some way. He was about to say something else when Mike was seized with another bout of nausea. His whole body heaved painfully but nothing seemed to come up. He struggled for breath.

Phil was really starting to worry now. Not knowing what else to do, he ran his fingers though Mike's thin, sandy-colored hair to gather it away from his face.

“Mike. I think you should lie down. Can you do that?” In answer Mike retched a final time and spat bile into the toilet. Minutes ticked by with no sound other than Mike's shallow breathing. His gaze was distant and unfocused as though he might pass out any second.

“Mike?”

“I think I will lie down now,” came the low reply. He shakily attempted to stand. Phil wrapped his arm around his tall friend and let him rest his weight against his shoulders.

“Feel better?”

“A little,” Mike nodded. He flushed away the mess and paused at the sink, taking a moment to bathe his face with cold water and rinse out his mouth. Then he glanced at his reflection in the mirror and rolled his eyes back in disgust. “Ugh. Awful.”

“Let's hope that was all,” Phil said, relieved that perhaps it wasn't as serious as he feared. “Come on, back to bed.” Phil accompanied his friend out of the bathroom and steered him towards the nearest bed.

“That's your bed,” Mike whispered, mindful that Tony was still asleep across the room.

“Yeah, and?” Mike swore he could hear the grin in Phil's voice. “Go on, lie down. I'll be right back.” Mike started to protest, but then decided the situation wasn't worth arguing about. He collapsed into bed and lay quietly, smiling a bit when he realized it was still warm where Phil had been sleeping. He tried not to think about food, or the burning acid pain in his chest, or anything having to do with the events of the past hour.

The bathroom light flipped off and Mike's eyes relaxed in the darkness. He heard Phil fumble against something and swear under his breath before he climbed into bed next to him.

“I brought you some water.”

“Oh, thank you.” Mike reached out an uncertain hand and felt it guided to a cool glass. Phil helped him to sit up as he drank.

“I hope that stays down,” Mike said when he finished.

“So do I. I won't have you vomiting in my bed,” Phil teased. Then, in a quieter tone, “If you feel sick again I'll help you to the toilet.”

“Thanks.” The word was swallowed in a wide yawn. Phil pulled the sheets around them both in a warm cocoon and softly rubbed his hand on the hollow of Mike's unsettled stomach. He felt damp and clammy, but Phil nuzzled close just the same. They sighed and held each other quietly in the dark.

“'Night, Phil,” Mike said, resting his bearded cheek on Phil's forehead.

“Feel better,” Phil whispered, and soon drifted into sleep with the even rhythm of Mike's level heartbeat against his ear.

 

* * *

 

Something didn't feel quite right.

Phil didn't know how long he had been asleep when the bathroom light woke him again.

“Mike?” he mumbled sleepily. Poor fella, he thought, sick again. But when he rolled over in bed he found Mike still beside him, calm and snoring gently. He stirred only once at the unpleasant sound of someone being miserably sick in the bathroom...

With a sinking heart, Phil looked at the clock. 2:34 am. He groaned and rubbed his eyes in defeat.

“Ohhh, Tony, nooo...”


End file.
